


It's Not Nice To Fool With Mother Nature

by DittyWrites



Series: Birds of Gay (2020) [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DCEU, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, F/F, M/M, Misogyny, Swearing, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DittyWrites/pseuds/DittyWrites
Summary: After being informed that Harley Quinn is currently sitting in a booth in his club, Roman Sionis is gripped by thoughts of sadistic revenge. In the six months she had been missing since splitting with the Joker, he had resigned himself to the thought that she was already dead but with her now so neatly gripped in his clutches, he is unwilling to let the opportunity pass and he and Zsasz immediately set out to satisfy their bloodlust.However, as Roman should know by now, little in Gotham City is ever as it seems...
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn, Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Series: Birds of Gay (2020) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629667
Comments: 18
Kudos: 138





	It's Not Nice To Fool With Mother Nature

**Author's Note:**

> I wish i had more time to edit this but my ass belongs to some very important work that i have to do so please enjoy. As always, feedback drives content and is absolutely appreciated on every level xx

The soft padding of Victors’ feet as he approached from the doorway drew Romans’ attention away from the bidding war he was currently engaged in on his phone. Due to be imported from Spain, the artwork which had caught his eye would look beautiful above his armoire and he was not willing to give it up without a fight.

“I said I would come do the rounds in an hour,” he muttered, the only thing preventing a frown from marring his forehead being the injections of botox he had recently undergone, “so this had better be good, Victor.” His gaze flicked between the phone and his right-hand.

Victor held up an apologetic hand, but his low tone was tinged with excitement as he passed on his information.

“Guess who just walked through the doors, boss?”

Interest piqued, Roman tilted his head towards him.

“Who?” He could sense the excitement in Victor, and he felt his own pulse begin to speed up. Victor was rarely excitable, and it always ended in something fun. “For you to try and drag me down early, especially when you know I am shopping, it must be a Wayne or a Kane.”

Victors’ lips split into a feral grin.

“Harley Quinn.”

Dropping his phone in his lap, Roman matched Victors’ grin with one of his own.

“Really? Oh! Oh, oh, oh!” Roman marked each exclamation with a soft clap, white teeth fully on display. “What fun! Alone?”

Victor gave a slow nod.

“Alone. She’s in a booth right now.” He paused, eyeing up the weapons drawer which sat off to the side of their penthouse. “Want me to tranq her?”

Rubbing a hand along his jaw in contemplation, Roman shook his head after a moment as he stood up from his seated position.

“No. I want to make a point.” Stretching his arms out over his head, a satisfying pop in his shoulder made him grunt as Victor took a step towards him. “No one has seen her since her and the clown went their separate ways. Stupid bitch should have known better than to show her face here.”

It was a well-known fact that he hated her. He knew it. She knew it. Fuck, he doubted that there was a single person in the Gotham criminal underbelly who wasn’t aware of their distaste for each other. Under the protection of the Joker, he couldn’t make a move against her without her paramour ripping his empire apart and pissing on the ashes.

Roman knew he could be rash at times, but he was not stupid.

“What do you want to do?” Victors’ voice interrupted his thoughts once again. “I have those speciality knives from Singapore with me.” As Victor move closer into his personal space, Roman smirked at the visible sadistic glee which was dancing in his eyes. “We could have some,” his voice lowered an octave, “fun.”

“Fantastic idea, Mr. Zsasz.” Roman purred, his bare hand coming up to caress the side of Victors’ face gently and he felt a possessive thrill as Victor leaned into the touch. “I’m going to have you rip her to shreds and pickle that ashy face. I might have it sewn onto one of those new statues I’m having made.”

Pulling away, Roman straightened to his full height and spun a finger through the air as he continued.

“Summon the boys- six should do it- and make sure they’re armed.”

“Will do, boss.” Victor nodded before he eyes darted down to the phone which Roman had abandoned. “What about the art bid?”

“Fuck that.” Roman waved him off as he stalked towards his bedroom, “I’ll just have someone steal it when it finally arrives in Gotham. Right now, I need to go and throw on something special to mark the occasion.”

x-x-x-x-x

Roman surveyed his outfit in the mirror with a critical eye. The shoes were new, the Italian leather soft enough to not need broken in, and they were as pristine as could be. The suit was bespoke, a creation from one of the finest tailors in Gotham, and it was one of his favourite pieces. The blue fabric which had up the base colour was so dark that it appeared almost black and every inch was embroidered with a light pink and blue geometric design. It was embroidered in such a way that any movement caused it to shift and take on a life of its own and he chose to pair it with a black mesh shirt to ensure that attention was not drawn from it.

As always, a monogrammed pocket square and pair of leather gloves completed the ensemble and Roman felt ready to go as the phone in his pocket vibrated.

Plucking it free, the message received was short and to the point as all Victors’ messages were.

_Men here and ready to go. Waiting for you to make your entrance._

Fantastic.

Descending from his penthouse, Roman took the staircase to the back of the club where he knew Victor would have the men gather. As he powered through the kitchen and backrooms, the staff offered him kind smiles and warm welcomes which barely disguised the fear in their eyes at his appearance. He paid them well enough, his wages were always fair, but they knew who he was, and they knew the price of disrespect.

“Boss.”

Victor lounged across the side-door to the club, preventing anyone from entering or leaving, and the half-dozen men who stood to his side shuffled in position as they palmed their pistols.

“Mr. Zsasz. Gentlemen.” Roman greeted them warmly, the thought of finally having Quinn in his grasp making him giddy. “As we walk through the doors, I will clear the club out while you three,” he pointed at three of the goons, “surround Quinn and keep her in place. You other three keep some distance in case she tries anything. Shoot to injure if she tries to run, I want her alive.”

He left off issuing Victor with instructions, inherently trusting him to know what to do to keep them both safe.

“It’s showtime, men,” Roman fixed the edge of his glove as he shared a wild grin with Victor, “let’s show that crazy bitch that Roman Sionis always gets what he wants.”

Victor was the first to push through the door, leading the way, as Roman followed with the six goons in tow. The pulsing beat of the club matched the pulse of his heart as he stormed to the centre of the room and took position by the music booth, the hired DJ of the night giving him a welcoming smile. As planned, three of his men moved to stand before the booth, their guns drawn but hidden within their jackets to keep the club from a true panic. At their sudden appearance, Harley raised a brow and her mouth opened wide in an obvious sigh, but she didn’t make any attempt to move.

“Everybody out!” Romans’ roar carried over the noise of the club as he cut the power to the deck and the music came to a dead halt. He owned this place and these people would do whatever he told them to do. “Get the fuck out of my club!”

Confused mutterings and uncertain looks were sent his way but Roman met them with a firm stance as he pointed towards the exit.

“Fuck off! Now! Fucking parasites! Move!”

A shot fired off to his left and Roman turned to see Victor waving his gun at the now screaming and fleeing crowd as they pushed against each other in their struggle to escape. Catching Victors’ eye, Roman tilted his head in thanks.

“Romy, good to see ya!”

As the sickly-sweet tone cut across his thoughts and over the cacophony of fleeing customers, Roman spun in place to face the current bane of his existence.

“Harleen Quinzel,” he drawled out, dragging the name between his lips as he advanced on her position, “the infamous Harley Quinn.”

“That’s me!” Ignoring the three men who had their pistols drawn on her, Roman took note that her gaze was locked on his and only seemed to flick to Victor as he also moved towards her, effectively trapping her in the booth. “Did you miss me?”

“Yes.” Roman lied, splaying his hands across the booth as he smirked at her. “I was afraid the Joker had killed you.”

“Aww, hon, that’s so sweet.” Harley placed a hand over her heart and shook her head, her expression guarded as she played her part. “I though, y’know since you hate me and all, that you’d be happy I was gone.”

Roman slammed his hand on the table, making one of the goons jump even as Harley held her ground.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he scolded, “I was afraid the Joker had killed you and deprived me of the pleasure.”

“Oh great-” Harley rolled her eyes.

“See,” Roman continued, “I’ve been waiting a long time to get my hands on you. A silly little girl with no one to protect he-”

“Lady are you fucking deaf? Get out of here.”

Romans’ words were interrupted by the loud exclaim from one of his goons and he paused his speech to turn towards the bar at the far side of the club.

There, seated at the bar without a care in the world, was a woman. Completely unperturbed by the gunshots and screaming crowd which had now vanished, she held a half-full glass of red wine in her hand as she squared off against the goon who was now threatening her.

“I paid for this overpriced drink and I’m not going anywhere until I’ve finished it.”

Her tone was haughty and, as though to make her point, she took a small sip from the glass before depositing it back on the bar.

“What the fuck is going on over there?” Roman called out, turning his back on Harley as he focused on the foolish woman who dared to ignore his instructions. “Someone grab her and toss her into the fucking gutter. I don’t have time for this”

The goon nearest her flashed her a leer and went to grab her arm to throw her from the club. As his hand closed around her upper arm, her other hand shot out and hooked around the back of his neck. In a show of considerable strength, the woman pulled his neck down as she jumped from her seated position and brought her knee up, connecting the joint with his nose as a sickening crack echoed through the club and the goon dropped to the floor.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me.” She hissed, kicking the body once for good measure.

The sound of five guns cocking rang through the room as all guns moved to focus on the violent woman.

Caught off-guard, Roman quickly regained himself and took charge of the situation as he spoke to the goons at the booth.

“You three keep your guns on Quinn!” He bellowed before turning back to the woman, who had now moved slightly closer to his position. To his far left, Roman could also see Victor tensing as he assessed the new potential threat. “And just who the fuck are you?”

Now standing, it was easier to observe the woman.

Her red hair was lightly curled and cascaded gently around her shoulders with one section near the top pinned back with a flower. The jumpsuit she was wearing hung from her body in an effortlessly classy manner and the shade of moss green, mixed with the deep red flowering, complimented her olive skin tone and it could have been his imagination but Roman could not recall ever seeing such a green undertone in skin before.

In different circumstances Roman would have loved to have her as a dancer at the club, she was undeniably beautiful and such a look would draw in a lot of attention, but given the situation he supposed that her unique skin could be implemented in some truly stunning artwork once freed from her body.

“Sorry,” the woman spoke again and even through the musical lilt of her voice, her anger was clear, “I don’t speak to little men who live above their station.”

Fury lashed through Roman at her disrespect and he shared a rage-filled glance with Victor which was understood as Victor stepped towards her, slowly enough to not draw her attention.

“Insulting a man in his own bar,” Roman snarled, “how classy. Normally we don’t allow whores in here, that’s what the alley out back is for.”

A satisfied smile crept on the face of the woman and Roman knew she was mocking him. He could feel it and the fury in his veins was only held in place by the satisfying knowledge that before the night was out, he would have her head.

“Big talk for a man who had to buy this place with money that he stole from his daddy.”

Or maybe he would treat her to a few days of his more infamous hospitality. It had been a while since he and Victor had kept a plaything for more than a few hours and this bitch had more than earned the privilege.

Speaking of Victor, he was now close enough to her position to ensure that she could not escape through the nearby door. She was trapped, and Roman was delighted to see the anger which was boiling within his gut reflected in the expression on Victors’ face.

“Trapped now, little bird. Keep fucking talking,” Victor smirked, “when I peel those lips off it’ll make it so much more…satisfying.”

“You better put a leash on that puppy before I put it down.” The woman growled, her fingers twirling around the flower woven through her hair just behind her temple.

“Fuck you, bitch.” Victor spat, walking towards her with his blade drawn. “I’ll enjoy filleting that pretty skin.”

The fingers around her wrist performed a sharp, intricate movement at some speed and- before Roman could do anything- they flicked out with force, sending a few small black thorns firing towards his second-in command as he continued his stalk towards the arrogant woman.

Not expecting any retaliation, and too blinded by anger to fully comprehend what was happening one of the thorns caught Victor in the neck. Roman could only watch in horror as he stumbled in place for a moment, his body seeming far heavier than it actually was, before he fell to the floor in an unmoving pile.

Fear rose in Romans’ stomach and he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his system, demanding that he do something to avenge his fallen partner. With Victor out the game he felt exposed, the comforting knowledge that no matter happened within his club that Victor would have his back stripped away by this fucking bitch who was now smirking at him, almost as though she could sense his thoughts.

“I warned him,” she shrugged, “and he should count himself lucky that I only brought my sedative thorns. I know exactly who he is, and he’ll be out for at least the next ten minutes.” One red heel came to rest dangerously close to Victors’ splayed hand before kicking away the knife that had been clutched within it as the woman stood over his fallen body. “I also know that a lot of people would be very happy to hear that Roman Sionis’ feral little pet dog was finally dead.”

“Kill him and see what happens.”

Hissing his response, Romans’ hands were clenched so tightly that his fingernails dug painful grooves into his palm. Her disrespect was like acid, biting at his skin with the sensation of a thousand tiny needles and it took all his self-restraint to control the outburst which was desperate to break free.

“I could kill him, these thorns here,” she indicated to the flower wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet, the red petals shining like fresh blood, “contain a poison which could stop his heart in seconds.” She paused. “Tell them to drop their weapons.”

At her words, the goons tightened their grips on their guns, each one inching closer to her position by the bar.

“Now.” She demanded, tilting her wrist down in an open threat.

The rage twisting within Romans’ gut was burning him from the inside out but he could not make a move without risking Victors’ life.

“Put. Them. Down.” He grit out from between clenched teeth, humiliated, but an idea struck him and as much as it would kill him, he could have another ally in the room.

“Quinn,” Roman called out, “help me put this bitch down and I’ll give you half a million. No more debts between us.”

“Oh, Romy,” strolling casually towards the redhead and her new captive, Harley’s grin split her face, “that’s not a very nice way to speak about such a badass lady.”

“Make it a million then,” he growled, “and you’ll also have my protection. All you have to do is kill this fucking bitch.”

As Harley reached the woman, Roman felt a flare of victory as she wrapped a hand around the womans’ neck but it was extinguished just as quickly as she pulled the woman down into a quick, soft kiss before pulling away.

“Romy, meet Ivy, my girlfriend.” Harley introduced them, “Ivy, this is Romy, my would-be killer.”

Well, _fuck_.

“And who the hell is she?” Splitting his gaze between the pair, Victors’ body, and the remaining five gunmen he had, Roman wondered at exactly what point he had lost control of this situation. “Some assassin?”

“She’s badass and gorgeous and pure poison,” Harley cooed, running her hand along the inside of Ivy’s arm until their fingers linked, “so you can call her Poison Ivy.”

Poison Ivy.

The eco-terrorist.

He had heard of her.

In his line of work, Roman had better things to do with his time than follow the exploits of some foolish little tree-hugging woman but still, he had heard the rumours. She had single-handedly blown up a pipeline which was due to be installed through Robinson Park and the accompanying murders of the city officials who had pushed the bill through had created quite the scandal. However, no arrests were ever made despite the whispers of a new underground figure taking the credit. The woman in question seemed uninterested in building an empire and so Roman was content to ignore her for now, particularly since the Robinson pipeline project had involvement from both Falcone and Maroni in a rare show of cooperation.

Their loss was his gain, but it seemed his disinterest had come back to bite him.

“Poison Ivy,” he repeated through gritted teeth, “I should have known that you would slink off and find some other fool to protect you. You’re too weak to survive on your own, Quinn.”

“You do not,” Ivy spat, pulling a small vial from her pocket in warning, “get to talk to her like that. Sad men who need to hurt women to make themselves feel better don’t get to talk about weakness.” Her heel clicked on the ground as she stomped her foot dangerously close to Victors’ neck. “You’re pathetic.”

“We’ve got the shot, boss.” One of the goons piped up, his gun having returned to its original position, not wavering from the pair who stood defiantly. “Just say the word.”

“Would you look at that, Romy, so do we!” Harley simpered, bending in position to pick up the gun which was tucked into the back of Victors’ slacks before matching Ivy’s stance at they both pointed their various weaponry at Victors’ defenceless neck. “Funny that, ain’t it.”

The threat was clear.

One move on his part and Victor died.

The irrational part of Roman, the passion which drove his decisions, demanded that they suffer for their disrespect. That they scream and plead and cry for a mercy that will never come as Victor and himself gave them everything which they deserved and more. However, that voice was strangled by the inexplicable fear that the thought of losing Victor speared him with. He trusted no one else and no one else could be depended on to not only fulfil his will but to also truly care for him in a way which even his family had not.

The price for vengeance in this moment was too high.

Play smart today, wreak bloody revenge tomorrow.

“Guns DOWN.” Romans’ voice roared through the club, startling even himself with its ferocity and each of the goons’ weapons were immediately withdrawn. “Why the fuck did you even come here, Quinn?”

“I just wanted to see if you were still being a little bitch about the whole ‘me’ thing,” Harley shrugged, grinning into Ivy’s shoulder as she linked their arms, “and it turns out you are. It just lets me know who to watch out for, y’know?”

“And I wanted to have a look at the ‘famous’ Roman Sionis, drink some of his expensive wine which I won’t be paying for” Ivy chipped in, unlinking her arm enough to slip it around Harley’s waist in a show of possession, “and keep an eye on Harls to make sure she didn’t get into too much trouble.”

“Aww, Red,” Harley grinned, “when do I ever get into trouble?”

“You still owe me for that whole incident at the Iceberg Lounge.”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Listen I don’t give fuck about any of this,” Roman seethed, furious that he was now being disregarded entirely, “so if you’re quite finished and aren’t planning on killing me then fuck off out of my club.”

“Are we going to kill him, peanut?” Ivy asked, stroking the flower on her wrist. “It’s up to you.”

“Nah. Let’s go get some Chinese food.” Harley screwed her face up slightly. “I’m kinda hungry.”

“What about this piece of shit?” Ivy indicated down to the fallen body at her feet.

“Tempting,” Harley smirked, “but if we kill Viccy here then he,” she indicated to Roman with an open hand, “will go absolutely wacko and really attempt to whack us.”

Roman remained silent but he had to admit that the bitch was correct on that one.

“Leaving then?” Keeping her hold of Harley’s waist, Ivy pushed her gently towards the side door as she kept her gaze focused on the goons who, although their guns were lowered, were still armed. “After you.”

“Okay, Red.” Harley grinned, placing another soft kiss on her cheek before opening the door and giving Roman one final look. “Bye, Romy! Be seeing you around!”

Roman did not give either woman any recognition, instead focusing on the now-twitching body of Victor until the clicking of their heels faded into nothingness. The fear in his gut was gone, replaced instead with a hot shame that he had been outplayed by Harley fucking Quinn and her new bitch of a partner.

Remembering that he was not alone, Roman snapped back into action.

“You two pick him up,” he pointed at Victor, “and take him upstairs,” he snarled at the goons, making a mental note to have Victor kill them when he awoke fully, “while the rest of you get this place tidied up. It’s a fucking pigsty in here and if it’s not fixed by morning, I’ll kill you and all your fucking families.”

Following the two goons who had delicately picked Victor up, Romans’ footsteps were loud against the wooden flooring as he stomped behind them. So lost in his thoughts, he did not realise that they had already arrived in his penthouse until Victor was being deposited on the black leather chaise-lounge which he himself had been seated on when this whole disaster of a night kicked off.

“Now fuck off.” He yelled at the two goons, throwing a nearby glass tumbler at their feet to encourage them to move. “And make sure no bastard comes to my door. For every knock I hear, I’ll cut a fucking finger off you both.”

Retreating quickly, both men disappeared and Roman was finally left alone with his thoughts and the soothing sound of Victors’ deep breathing. That bitch had said ten minutes so that meant that Victor could wake at any time and Roman wanted to ensure he was comfy when he awoke. It had unsettled him more than he was willing to admit, the sight of Victor taken down with such ease. They had been flippant, and it had almost cost them everything.

Quinn had played her hand too soon and now he knew everything. He would put the word out there, gather as much information about that plant-loving bitch as he could and prepare to take them both out.

Their revenge would be the stuff of legends. A tale which would ripple throughout the underbelly of Gotham in nothing more than hushed whispers and frightened glances. Victor would be given free rein to do as he pleased with an emphasis on keeping both alive for as long as possible and Roman himself would also take the time to indulge. The blood of both Quinn and Ivy would wash the streets and serve as a message to any others who dared to oppose him.

_No one messes with Roman Sionis._


End file.
